What Have You Done
by Kaitipoola
Summary: Written out of boredom: Emmett and Rosalie when Edward is in Italy. Emmett's POV. Read and Review.


What Have You Done

I heard her screaming my name from miles away.

I froze.

A moment later I was running as fast as I could in the direction of her voice, thinking frantically. What happened? Was she all right? She had never sounded so afraid before.

I found her near the house, half-hidden by all of the trees. Her perfect face was wild with emotion: shock, pain…guilt?

"Emmett—oh my God Emmett," she gasped when she saw me. Immediately I took her into my arms, supporting her slight weight. "Rose, what's wrong? Are you okay? Tell me!" I begged. She shook her head slowly, seeming dazed.

When she did speak, the words were so rushed that, even with my vampire hearing, I strained to understand them. "It's Edward—I called him—Bella's not dead—Volturi—I have to stop him!"

The only words that registered right then were _Bella's not dead. _

Not dead.

"Bella's alive?" I repeated. "But how, Alice saw her!" Rose groaned. "She was wrong, Emmett," she muttered absentmindedly, obviously thinking about something else.

Alice wrong?

Alice was never wrong; neither was Edward.

Edward.

"Edward…" I began, but at the mention of our brother's name Rosalie let out such a pitiful moan that I stopped.

Suddenly, it clicked.

Rosalie had called Edward, Bella wasn't dead, the Volturi…_she had to stop him! _

"Rosalie," I said urgently, looking into her eyes, "what did you call him about?" She was silent, refusing to meet my gaze.

Ashamed.

"Rose!" I yelled, shaking her.

"What have you done?"

At these words, Rosalie's black eyes shifted to meet mine. She wrenched out of my grasp and took off in the direction of the house. Once I had caught up with her, she admitted:

"I called Edward, Emmett. I told him about Bella—I thought he deserved to know. What good would it do to postpone the inevitable? But I never thought…Emmett, I never thought he would go off and try to _kill _himself!" Her last words seemed to echo in my mind.

Kill himself.

Holy shit.

Usually I never fought with Rosalie. We bickered, of course, but I was far too in love with her to get very angry.

This time, she had gone too far.

"Why the hell would you do that, Rosalie?" I roared. "Why would you do that to him—he's your _brother_! What were you thinking? Did you just do it to rub it in his face?"

Rosalie stopped running and turned to face me, crowing indignantly. "I thought he would come _home_, Emmett!" she answered in kind, rather defensively. "I thought he might stop being so masochistic and leave that pit of filth he's been living in for all these months! I just wanted him to _come home._" At those last words, her lip started trembling.

But the sight of my mate in pain, which was always so reproachful to me, now made me even angrier.

I laughed harshly. "Yes, he was just going to come home, simple as that, was he?" I mocked. "Rose, he loves her!" She shook her head. "We don't have time—we have to stop him," she insisted. "NOW!"

Rose ran into the house to tell someone we were leaving. I heard the most unexpected sound: the sound of Esme shouting. Strange as it was, it gave me a sort of wicked satisfaction.

After a couple more minutes of furious impatience, Rosalie emerged from the front door with a disbelieving look on her face. We entered the garage through the side door, and soon we were speeding out of the property in Rosalie's BMW.

Vaguely, as the speedometer crawled past 150, I noticed that the hood was up, something that Rose had never allowed before. She always enjoyed flaunting her cars, especially after taking the time to tune them. She loved all of the attention, despite all of Alice's warnings about remaining inconspicuous.

These thoughts were immediately dismissed as I thought of Edward. Why would he want to kill himself? Didn't he think about his family, about _me_? When he had left, the usual harmony in our family left with him. And for the first time in Rosalie's presence, I felt lonely.

He must know how dull life was without him, how Carlisle and Esme lamented his absence.

Of course I understood how Bella's loss must affect him. Even while seething with rage at her selfishness, the thought of Rose ceasing to exist made me shudder. There was no way I could live without her.

Rosalie interrupted my thoughts. "I still can't believe it," she muttered, more to herself than me. "Why can't you?" I asked swiftly. "What if it were me, Rose?"

She winced in pain, obviously reminded of some unpleasant memory.

"It's not the same," she finally answered. "Bella was—_is—_a human. An immature, teenage human."

I frowned. I liked Bella.

"Rosalie, he loves her," I insisted. "We can't help who we love."

My wife's face softened a tad at this, but she raised her chin in defiance. "She puts our family in danger, Emmett. What if she told, even if by accident? If Edward would just change her…" she trailed off, pushing the car a bit faster.

Of course, she had me here. I didn't understand why Edward wouldn't change her. Carlisle told me that it was truly what Bella had wanted before we left—that she had tried to talk _him _into changing her! Of course those thing that Edward imagined about losing our souls and all were well and good, but it was what she wanted. I didn't understand.

But of course I couldn't think about that now. If Rose and I didn't reach him soon enough, there would be no more Edward to change Bella. And just a second ago, I had thought there was no Bella to change—how ironic.

"Didn't you once think how much it would hurt Edward?" I burst out suddenly. "Did you even care? Now he is so miserable that he is trying to die, and Bella isn't even dead, and everything would be fine if you had _kept your mouth shut_!"

"Stop with the lecture, Emmett," Rosalie sniffed. "You're not helping anything."

I was so pissed I was growling.

"Dammit Rose! You think what you did helped anything?" I retorted.

Surprising me, Rosalie sighed in a dejected sort of way. "I know," she murmured hopelessly, seeming to give up on her defense. "I know."

"You think I haven't hated myself ever since I got that phone call from Alice?" she said. "I'm so guilty I could just crawl into a little hole and stay there. But I'm not going to do that, Emmett, I am going to save my brother and clean up this mess I made." I didn't respond, and a tight, uncomfortable silence hung in the air.

We were almost to the airport when Rosalie's cell phone rang. She shrank away from it, seeming repulsed by the sight.

"Emmett," she said in a pleading tone. I glared at the little phone, but answered.

"Hello," I said.

"Emmett," Jasper said. He sounded a little surprised, and more than a little relieved.

"What is it, Jasper," I snapped impatiently.

There was silence for a moment, and I interpreted it as astonishment at my foul mood. Usually, I was the optimistic one. The one who went on joking and teasing even when situations were bad.

I made Jasper's job easier.

"Emmett, tell Rosalie to turn around."

What?

"Jasper, we have to stop him—"

He cut me off. "What do you think he'll do when he sees you two?"

Many images flashed through my mind at this question: none of them included Edward allowing himself to be escorted home.

"Touché," I muttered.

Rose had heard the entire exchange so far, and she was not turning around.

"Then what does my philosophic brother propose? We can't just do nothing," Rosalie hissed at me, knowing Jasper would hear.

"Alice and Bella are going to Volterra to stop him. He'll only believe that Bella's alive if he sees her."

It was my turn to be incredulous. "Bella?" I repeated. Then, "How stupid _is _she? Does she know that with her smell she'll be snapped up in less than a second? Doesn't Alice?"

Jasper responded quickly at the mention of Alice, and his voice was like steel:

"Bella made the choice to go, Emmett. She knows exactly what she's doing."

My brows furrowed uncomprehendingly, and Rosalie snatched the phone out of my hands. "We're turning around," she said quietly, and snapped it shut.

The car swerved loudly as she made the sharp turn.

We were quiet again for a minute before Rosalie spoke. "She's either suffering from a mental disorder," my mate mused, "or very, very brave."

"Brave," I decided. Rosalie—I couldn't believe it!—nodded in agreement.

Even with her face twisted in pain and confusion, Rose was gorgeous. After studying her face for a moment, I took her hand in mine. "It will turn out all right," I assured her dutifully, trying to make her understand that she was forgiven.

She didn't pull her hand away, but her voice was harsh as she replied, "No it won't. You know Edward. They'll be too late."

Her voice was so certain that I considered the prospect. What if they were too late? What if Edward acted too quickly or Bella was killed? Where would that leave Rosalie and I?Rosalie would never forgive herself, I knew. She would lose her pride completely, and eventually suffocate from the guilt. I wouldn't be able to help her. This could not—would not—happen. But I stayed quiet.

About ten minutes later—courtesy of Rose's automobile-enhancing skills—we were pulling into the garage.

I left out the side door we had come in through, and Rosalie followed. Both of us caught the scent on the cold wind at the same time—Carlisle. "Carlisle," she breathed, and raced after the scent.

Deciding not to follow her, I went into the house.

From the living room, it seemed as if the house was empty. But I could tell just from the feel of things that Jasper was in his room, and Esme was in…Carlisle's study. At the moment, talking to Esme seemed a better idea than taking my chances with Jasper.

"Esme?" I called, cracking the door open questioningly. There was no answer, so I opened it wider. She was sitting on the floor with her back against the bookcase, staring at nothing. I cringed against the door, watching in pain. But almost just as soon as I felt the pain, it was replaced with an easy tranquility.

Thanks, Jasper.

"Oh God, Esme," I murmured apologetically. I hated it when she was upset. "I'm absolutely fine, dear," Esme lied. She smiled halfheartedly, but stopped when she saw that I wasn't quite stupid enough to believe her. "Yes," she agreed sadly. "Things aren't exactly as good as they could be, are they?"

"They'll get better," I promised, my natural optimism returning. I added, "Alice is pretty determined."

Of course I didn't know whether she was or not, but I didn't know what else to say. What do you say to a grieving mother, when the person responsible for her misery if the love of your life?

I patted her shoulder awkwardly, sighed, and left the room in search of Rose.

She was in our room, looking at her flawless reflection in the mirror with disgust. _Carlisle must have been terrible_, I thought. I ran my hand over her golden tresses in greeting, and sat down on the bed. Slowly, she turned to me and looked into my eyes.

We should be fighting some more right now, I knew. I should still be angry with her. But now the anger had been replaced with an air of horrified pity. What could I say? I loved her.

"Are you alright?" I asked idiotically. She just kept looking at me, not even letting the disbelief color her expression. "No, I guess not," I muttered. I could tell that she wanted me to shut up, but now that I wasn't angry the silence made me jumpy.

"I know what a mess I am," my wife said finally. "I make a choice to act the way I do. I know how it drives everyone else crazy, but I still choose to." She paused, watching my face as I stared in fascination. "And never, in all my existence," Rosalie continued, "Have I felt any regret for it until now. "I know it's all my fault if Edward dies. I know how selfish I was. And I know how wrong I was about Bella, too. If she dies in Italy, all of it will be my fault."

She stopped, and crawled onto the bed next to me. Willingly I took her into my arms. "No, Rose. Don't think like that. We all make mistakes—and besides, everything will be fine. I promise. Edward won't die, and neither will Bella. They…can't."

Rosalie didn't even seem to hear me, and if she did, my words made everything worse. She curled into a ball, whimpering, heartbroken. And despite my confidence that everything would be alright, part of me was mourning Edward with her.

What would I do without Edward? We'd had so much fun, been so close since he found Bella: she had made him different. Now he laughed at my jokes, and even had inside jokes of his own. He tolerated Rosalie, and he _talked_. He lost his snooty, all-knowing silence and talked to the rest of the family. Of course, we hadn't really gotten to experience these changes by the time that we had to leave Forks. And I missed the way Edward was. I missed Bella, too. Everything might have ended up fine if Rosalie hadn't made that damn phone call—and still I couldn't be angry at her now.

I don't know how long we stayed like that, Rose crying without tears, and me reassuring her while dealing with my own loss.

But eventually it was morning: the skies lightened a little bit, and we heard activity going on around the house. Rosalie still hadn't moved out of my embrace. She was quiet, drained. "We should see what's happening," she said. "Maybe they've gotten ahold of someone."

Instantly I released her, and we changed quickly. As she turned to leave, I put her hand on her shoulder and turned her back towards me. Anything to erase the pain on her face, I kissed her and murmured, "I love you."

"I love you," she echoed, and we left the room nervously.

Jasper was sitting in the living room. He had a book in his hand, but his eyes never moved across the page. "Jasper?" I called. He looked up, and for a moment I thought I saw anger flashing in his eyes as he saw Rosalie. But then his face was just as calm as usual, and I wasn't sure.

"Have you gotten ahold of Alice again?" Rose asked tentatively. Jasper shook his head. "Too scared to try," he muttered. "I will now." The air was thick with tension as he pulled out his cell phone.

Just as he began dialing, Carlisle and Esme entered the living room. Carlisle's face was guarded, but Esme's face was profoundly miserable. I felt a pang of sympathy reverberating in my chest. Carlisle shot a questioning glance in my direction, and I murmured, "He's trying to get ahold of Alice again." Jasper's eyes narrowed as it rang.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Oh my God.

Jasper shut the phone wearily, dropping his head into his hands. A wounded moan parted Rosalie's lips, and I pulled her closer to me, shaken.

Edward wasn't coming back.

Alice and Bella weren't coming back.

And it was all because of my wife.

Esme had retreated to her and Carlisle's room on the third ring, no doubt to mourn in peace. Carlisle turned slowly, and headed for his study. He shut the door when he entered, and a few moments later I heard a cry of pain coming from behind it.

Jasper took lifted his head, and looked at Rosalie, whose head was already hung in guilt and pain. There was no anger in his expression, no particularly strong feeling. He just looked at her.

Nevertheless, I growled at him. He looked up at me for just a moment, then left the living room in silence.

I lifted Rosalie effortlessly and carried her to the couch. Her body was stiff and lifeless. It's all right, I wanted to tell her. But we both knew it wasn't, and I had no more speech. I still couldn't contemplate it: I would never see my brother again.

Suddenly, Rosalie collapsed in my arms, bursting into dry sobs. "What have I done?" she wept.

"What have I done?"

I didn't answer her: she knew what she had done.

I turned my face away from hers, towards the window, and gazed out unseeingly into the dark, dead gray sky.


End file.
